


Manor Rules

by Elysandra



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: At the manor, BDSM, F/F, Punishment, steampunk!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-06
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2018-01-07 17:09:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1122378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elysandra/pseuds/Elysandra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out, following the rules isn't as easy as Katelyn thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manor Rules

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sharpeningthebones](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sharpeningthebones).



The loud noise of heels on stone echoes through the hallway, loud enough to almost cover Katelyn’s cursing. Breathless cursing, that is, as running, cursing, and breathing at the same time turns out to be difficult in a corset as tight as hers. So far she has found few advantages gained by wearing a corset that are actually worth bearing their restrictiveness, but she has worn corsets before - when she absolutely had to. Lady Helen has made the dress code quite clear, though. As long as they’re staying at the manor, a corset is mandatory. Then again, dinner at eight is also mandatory, as well as an appropriate outfit. Right now, she’s not doing too good at either of those.

 

Skidding to a halt in front of the dining room doors, Katelyn glares at the maid who seems set on opening them unbearably slow. It’s too late anyway, though; there’s no way of rescuing the evening. Finally able to slip into the room, Katelyn comes to a halt at the table, breathing in hard, short gasps.

 

“I’m sorry, Lady, I-”

 

The Lady’s lifts a hand, not looking at her until she’s finished chewing.

 

“What is the time, Katelyn?”

 

“Ten past eight, Lady.”

 

There’s food on her own plate, set as always at the table’s end across from the Lady. The gravy is already beginning to congeal as the meal is rapidly cooling, and her chair is missing. Katelyn stands straighter, avoiding the Lady’s eyes.

 

“And what is that outfit?”

 

“My working outfit, Lady.”

 

She watches as the Lady cuts off a piece of rosy, juicy steak that makes Katelyn’s mouth water. She hasn’t eaten since lunch; the smell coming off her own plate only makes her stomach more demanding.

 

“Repeat the rules.”

 

“Dinner at eight is mandatory, as is appropriate clothing. I am sorry, Lady.”

 

The dinner room is decorated as beautifully as always, the ornate furniture accentuated by skillfully arranged bouquets of flowers. The orange evening sun falling in through the windows basks everything in a warm golden light that makes the scent of dinner appear even more homey and delicious. The only thing Katelyn can focus on, though, is the smell of manure clinging to her boots and trousers, and it’s impossible not to shift from one foot to the other at the look the Lady gives her when she tells her to undress.

 

“I do not accept anything but dinner dresses at this table, and most certainly not dirty working garments that make every bite I eat taste like the dung they reek off.”

 

With a wince, Katelyn follows the Lady’s order. Soon there is a pile of black boots, trousers and shirt lying next to the door, leaving her clad in only her corset and a short chemise.

 

“Now, what caused you to be late? Tardiness, or did the frog bats get the better of you?”

 

As always, the Lady is spot on, and Katelyn feels her cheeks heat. Lady Helen has warned her about the bats, after all. She really should have paid closer attention.

 

With her plate of cooling, drying food in front of her, Katelyn is made to summarise her day’s work. By now, her stomach is growling audibly, but she doesn’t dare touch her cutlery. Instead she stands and waits, shifting uneasily, the cold of the stone floor chilling the soles of her feet, seeping into her bones. Cold, hungry, and miserable, she watches the Lady eat.

 

Her discomfort must have been quite obvious, for the Lady pauses mid-bite.

 

“Isabelle!”

 

It’s by far not cold and miserable enough for Katelyn to be happy about the maid reappearing at the Lady’s call. She keeps her eyes fixed on the table, but the pitying look on the young woman’s face is hard to miss. There probably are very few things that surprise the servants in Lady Helen’s household. Katelyn, on the other hand, is pretty much not used to standing in front of strangers with almost no clothes on.

 

“Yes, Lady Helen?” the maid asks.

 

“Bring a pair of shoes for Lady Katelyn. We can’t have her catch a cold standing barefooted like that.”

 

“Right away, Lady Helen.”

 

Katelyn is able to breath more easily again when the maid leaves the room, but her relief is short-lived. It doesn’t take Isabelle long to reappear with a pair of brown knee-high boots, and Katelyn has to endure being laced into them while she keeps her balance with a hand to Isabelle’s shoulder. It’s a position much closer to the younger woman than she ever wanted to be in without proper clothes on, but the little glances she can see her sneak are quite adorable...

 

The sound of cutlery on porcelain plates pulls her out of her reverie. The Lady has finished her dinner.

 

“Isabelle, the crop.”

 

Any and all thoughts of adorableness vanish. The crop does not look adorable in the maid’s hands, and especially not in Lady Helen’s hands. The crop never looks adorable. Katelyn tenses.

 

“Come around. Bend over the table.”

 

The Lady directs her until she’s standing bent over the long side of the table, her head touching the wood between large silver vases with bright yellow flowers above her. Her lip smarts where she worries it with her teeth, but she is unable to stop as she forces herself to cross her wrists behind her back the way she has been taught. She feels the Lady lift the hemline of her chemise and tug it under the edge of her corset, followed by her cold hand inspecting her buttocks. Then, before the situation really has had time to sink in, a series of quick hard slaps rains down on Katelyn’s skin, causing heat to spread rapidly. She’s unsure how, but apart from a surprised gasp when first hand meets skin she actually manages to stay quiet. It’s over almost as quickly as it began, the Lady caressing Katelyn’s now glowing skin.

 

“How many do you reckon would be fair?”

 

Chances are high there is no right way to answer that, but by now Katelyn has spend enough time at the manor to predict the Lady’s way of thinking.

 

“Eight, Lady.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I should have been here at eight, Lady.”

 

She’s rewarded with an approving hum.

 

“Nice try. I’ll go for ten, though, seeing how you were ten minutes late.”

 

Which is worse, but bearable, if the Lady isn’t in too bad a mood. Katelyn shifts minutely to prepare herself for what is about to come; it results in the Lady reaching out to hold her by the neck, pressing her down onto the table top.

 

“Don’t move.”

 

This is it. Katelyn tenses. Her actions have consequences now in a way they never did before. Mucking up a job might have hurt her reputation, but her backside has never been in danger. This proof of the fact that she really is under the Lady’s control, proof that comes in many forms and at the most unexpected of times... Time and again, it hits her when she’s completely unprepared, a punch to take her breath away that she never sees coming. It’s usually followed by a gush of arousal, which hasn’t yet ceased embarrassing her even though the Lady noticed weeks ago.

 

There’s no time for embarrassment now. The crop hits, and Katelyn works hard on counting aloud even before the pain has faded, because failing to count means repeats that only get harder to endure. To clench her teeth, curl her toes, and force the words out as she tries not to kick her feet - thus far that has proved to be the best way to endure punishments. Knowing that enduring the pain will go a long way in relieving the guilt of having disappointed her mentor helps as well. And, of course, the fact that all pain will fade, sooner or late...

 

When it’s finally over and Katelyn is standing straight again with her chemise brushing the tops of her thighs and hiding the angry red welts on her buttocks, she finds herself in front of her still full plate.

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

Looking down at the cold food in front of her, Katelyn is about to deny her hunger, but right then her stomach rumbles loud enough to be heard in the entire room.

 

“Yes, Lady.”

 

When the maid brings her chair back to the table, a faint red covers both women’s cheeks. They share a quick glance, breaths equally short, before Katelyn has to sit down. It’s the worst part after a punishment, and the Lady’s smirk doesn’t make it any better, though it does cause another gush of wetness between her legs.

 

“Enjoy your dinner, pet,” is all the Lady says as she sits down to watch, sipping a glass of wine.

 

Katelyn picks up her fork and knife, fighting the urge to poke at the stuff on her plate. Bad table manners are not going to earn her any points with the Lady - and she needs points, desperately, if she wants to maintain any realistic chance of ‘dessert’.

 

After all, the night is still young.


End file.
